


The Likes of Them

by Lady_Dayne13



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Incest, Premarital Sex, Slow Burn, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 12:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Dayne13/pseuds/Lady_Dayne13
Summary: "King Jaehaerys, known as the Conciliator died in his bed. Men wept and women tore their garments in lament for a king who had been so just and good. His ashes were interred with that of his beloved, the Good queen Alysanne, beneath the Red Keep and the realm never saw their like again." - A world of Ice and FireThis is the story of the beginning of the glorious reign of the Good King Jon and his beloved Queen Daenerys Stormborn.This is a silly smutty not too serious self-indulgent fic following the lives of Jon, Robb, Dany and Margaery. It follows a lot of the predictable tropes for those who have a taste for that kind of thing.





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my "brief" explanation of the events that transpire before the start of this fic that explain why things are the way that they are...  
> "Rhaegar is single and only interested in securing allies to overthrow his mad father during the tourney at Harrenhall, when he meets Lyanna. Events there transpire much as they do in canon (knight of the laughing tree, Queen of Love and Beauty etc.) Lyanna is there with her father and two oldest brothers, who came to start negotiations for her hand with Robert Baratheon. But after witnessing the growing affection between Lyanna and the Dragon Prince, Lord Stark changes his mind. When Rhaegar approaches Rickard to secure his allegiance, Rickard pledges the Norhtern forces only on the condition that once the fighting is done Rhaegar marries Lyanna and makes her Queen. Rhaegar eagerly agrees. 
> 
> A year later the new Targaryan civil war breaks out as the North, Vale, Riverlands with a bit of aid from Dorne under Rhaegar's command march against the Mad King's forces consisting off the Crownlands, the Reach under the command of the ever clueless Mace Tyrell, and the Stormlands thanks to a pissed off jilted Robert Baratheon. The Iron Islands ignore the conflict all together, and the Westerlands wait to see who'll be the winning side. Rhaegar defeats Robert on the Trident, but Rickard and Brandon fall in battle leaving Ned to be the warden of the North and to marry Catylin. The Lannisters pick a side and sack King's Landing, and Jamie kills the king to keep him from burning down the city and gets pardoned by Rhaegar. Meanwhile pregnant Rhaella and Viserys hide out on Dragonstone. 
> 
> Rhaegar gets crowned and marries Lyanna. Their happiness is shortlived as Rhaella dies giving birth to Daenerys and shortly afterwards Lyanna follows the same fate. Before she passes however she makes her husband promise that he will give their child a northern name and send him to Winterfell for a time to be fostered and get in touch with his Northern roots and land and people. _"Promise me Rhaegar....promise me"._ Rhaegar keeps his promise to his beloved departed wife and names their child Jon and when he is just past his 6th nameday sends him North to live with his uncle for a time.
> 
> After his son departs Rhaegar gets persuaded by his advisers that he has grieved long enough and it is time for him to take another wife and sire more children. Rhaegar agrees to marry Elia of Dorne, who gives birth to Rhaenys and Aegon. Shortly after Jon’s 18th nameday he asks his son and heir to return to the capital to resume his position as Crown Prince. Jon is followed to the capital by his cousins Robb, Sansa and Arya with the blessing of their parents so that they can see a bit more of the world, experience court life, and meet future marriage prospects..."

The sun scorched his face as he stood on the balcony sweeping his curious gaze in a semi circle over the scenery below, trying to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. He saw the different sized dull red and grey rooftops and the shadowed streets in between and the ant like figures weaving in and out of them but they were too far away to clearly make out their shapes. The snowy white imposing structure of the Sept of Baelor stood proud and erect on the other side of the city and a dozen ships floated around the harbour, moving too slowly for Jon to determine whether they were coming or going. The sun made the calm waves shimmer and sparkle, occasionally catching the angle quite right sending a reflective ray straight at his eyes, blinding him temporarily. He tried to rest his hands on the marble railing to brace himself so he can look at what may lay directly below his tower balcony but the marble was too heated from the sun and burned his palms.

"It's too bloody hot in here!", a gruff voice whined from behind him. Jon turned and walked back through the sheer silk curtains guarding his balcony entrance into the slightly cooler expanse of the room. He saw Robb in the corner slumped low on an uncomfortable looking ornate high back chair in the farthest corner of the room. One hand wiping the sweat gathering on his brow and moistening the tips of his russet curls, while the other tugged urgently at the laces of his heavy leather jerkin trying to get some cool relief from the oppressive humid heat. 

"And it smells like shit," Robb continued. "Or it could just be me." He lowered his head and gave a quick sniff of his newly exposed chest area. 

"We have been travelling down the kings road for over a month. I am sure the girls have already had baths drawn for them. We should as well." Jon replied surveying his lavish new chambers once again. 

Weary and sluggish, Robb moved slowly, pulling himself up to stand by his cousin looking towards the double doors. "You are right. I should go check on them, make sure they are getting settled in properly, and you have your big family dinner to prepare for". He gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and moved towards the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, if I find you in this damned castle," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the marble hall.

Jon frowned at his feet as he considered his cousin's words and listened to his retreating steps. Family. He has never even met most of them; how could he consider them Family. Family was uncle Ned's quiet presence, Rickon's childish squeals, Arya's mischievous grins, Sansa's annoyed eye rolls, Bran's warm hugs, Ghost’s silky fur, and Robb's retreating form. It was not the silver haired strangers he was about to meet. 

He walked through an arched entryway into the private bath chamber attached to his compartments and began to shed his sweat soaked clothes before getting into the pool. The water was pleasantly cool and for minutes he simply floated letting the grime and sweat of the road soak away. One edge of the tub was lined with a myriad of different colored small crystal vials and bottles filled with exotic smelling oils and soaps and Jon picked up a few giving them an experimental sniff. He scrunched up his nose wondering why a man would ever choose to smell so sweet and flowery and promptly returned the vassals to their original place, grabbing the familiar plain bar of soap instead. Something about the combination of different smells still permeating the air around the bath chamber and filling his nostrils while he lathered up triggered a vivid memory in the far corners of his mind like no other sense ever could. 

_"Prince Jon!!! Your Grace, please slow down!!!", a woman's desperate voice echoed in the background. His sweaty feet made a slapping sound as they hit the cool tiles. His little legs pumping as fast as they would go. "Please! You'll hurt yourself," the older woman cried again as she chased him in the wide hall. He giggled as he ignored her entreaties. This chasing game was fun and she was no match for his agility. He weaved in out of columns, laughing in childish delight, his dark bouncing curls occasionally obscuring his view. He suddenly slipped, his non-callused child's feet gliding easily against the smooth surface. His pudgy arms shot out to grab at anything to prevent his fall and managed to wrap themselves around a giant black spike protruding from the ground. Spike? No, not spike. Tooth. He clung to its warm glassy surface as he lifted his head up to see it's sharp and pointy end. It must have been three times the size of him and it wasn't even the tallest one out of the row that stretched on either side of him. He tuned out the sounds of his caretaker gaining on him, momentarily forgetting the chasing game that he had started as he quietly contemplated this new found treasure. Strong hands grabbed him about the waist and lifted him of it however. Warm violet eyes regarded him with amusement. "You are being one naughty prince. I'll take it from here, thank you," his father's voice said to someone behind him._

The sounds of someone moving around in his bedroom suddenly snapped Jon out of his memories. Someone cleared their throat and a shy uncertain voice of a young man called out through the privacy curtain. "My prince….Your grace. I left your change of clothes for tonight's dinner on the bed. I am right outside the door should you require any assistance". The youth quickly scurried out of the room closing the door behind him. 

Jon wondered if the dragon's skulls still lined the hall of the throne room and if they really were as big as he remembered or if his memories were being exaggerated by the child's mind that last saw them. That wasn't the last time that he saw his father in his early days before he departed North for many years to come, but that memory was one of the clearest.

He grabbed one of the neatly stacked towels and wrapped it around himself as he padded back into the room. He studied the garments left on the bed and reached out to feel the fabric between his rough and callused finger tips. The intricate embroidery covering almost every inch of the tunic and jerkin made him grimace. He was not used to wearing such heavily decorated garments, but he knew the cool silks and satins that they were made from would serve him better in this climate than the heavy wools and leathers that he arrived in. 

***

He took a deep breath before entering the dining chamber to steady his nerves. His father greeted him upon arrival in the capital but the rest of his extended family he has never even met. He wondered what they'll think of him. He wondered what he'll think of them. 

They all stood around a long rectangular dining table. His eyes nervously darted out to greet the only familiar face in the room. His father gave him a small reassuring smile and beckoned him forward to make the introductions. His wife Elia came first. Jon studied the Dornish princess turned queen who has long since been his step mother. He wondered if she hated him, the walking talking reminder that Rhaegar was already wed once before her. He wondered if she thought one of her children ought to be the rightful heir in his place. But when he looked into her open olive toned face, her shy welcoming smile, her dark exotic eyes that held no hint of malice or resentment he thought his step mother was a kind and beautiful woman. His little step sister came next. Rhaenys, a girl of ten, was a perfect copy of her mother in appearance and disposition. Jon felt an immediate kinship to the little princess for her dark eyes, and dark hair, and copper skin. She was the only other descendant of Aegon the Conqueror in the room aside from him who took up solely after her mother, displaying none of the telltale Targaryan features. Her younger brother was the polar opposite, no hint of Dornish graced his features. However, looking into his bright violet eyes alight with joy and mischief, the easy grin that stretched across his face, and little hands that practically shook with excitement at the prospect of meeting his older half - brother, Jon couldn't help but return his smiles. Jon's uncle Viserys looked at the boy with pure disgust. He offered Jon no hand shake, no bow, nor even a nod, only a look of utter loathing which startled and confused him. His aunt Daenerys closed off the introductions. He stood agape for a few seconds before remembering his courtesies. Tales of her beauty have travelled as far as the Wall, but as most tales often were once having been told and retold by one unreliable source to another, Jon had assumed them to be much exaggerated. He swallowed thickly as he realized that they were not. Her thick silver locks, cascading freely down to her waist reflected the candle light like no polished metal or rare gem that Jon had ever seen. Her large amethyst eyes framed by long thick lashes peered at him with mild curiosity. The full mouth offered neither smile nor scowl. She wore a lavender gown in the southern fashion so sheer and flimsy by conservative Northern standards, that Jon was sure most ladies north of the Red Fork would think it nothing more than small clothes. It hugged her full form perfectly emphasizing every little curve most men would give up fortunes to lay eyes on. Yet despite the choice of clothing, she still gave off an air that was both demure and proper. Jon felt embarrassed as he noticed a blush creep up her porcelain chicks, no doubt in response to his unabashed staring. He willed his eyes away and determined not to look at her for the remainder of the evening. 

The dinner was unlike any he had ever experienced. Instead of crowding the table with platters of different foods so that each guest can taste and sample at their leisure, servants ran in and out bringing countless courses in individually sized portions to each diner, grabbing their wine glasses and replacing them with a different flavour and vintage at each turn. Being the honored guest and center of attention made the heat rise to his cheeks and his foot shift uncomfortably under the table. Soon enough with Elia's gentle encouragement to speak up and bond with their brother, Rhaenys and Aegon began a series of probing questions about his life up north. This inquest grew from hesitant mumbles to excited exaltations as they became more comfortable and would think of another inquiry before he had finished answering the last. Their wondrous childish curiosity painfully reminded him of Bran. He wished the boy could come but Lady Stark, having let go of three children already to this journey, would not hear of giving him up until the others returned. Elia and Rhaegar quietly looked on with approval at this quick sibling connection. The sounds of Viserys's snorts or derisive laughs at some of Jon's explanations about the habits and customs of the Northmen were the only interruption. Even Rhaegar's pointed looks in his direction would not contain his uncle, so Jon did his best to ignore him. Daenerys, who Jon tried hard to only glance at on occasion, sat mutely, either staring at her plate, throwing kind and amused looks at the children, or studying him with an impassive expression. Whenever he became aware he was once again under her scrutiny he would feel a slight flush and his words would somewhat falter. 

"Your Grace, you asked to be informed the moment Lord Connington arrived. He is awaiting your presence in your solar", a servant interrupted Jon's tale of the Wall. Rhaegar got up directly. 

"My apologies. This is an important matter and I must see to immediately." He addressed his family, sending a warning glance towards Viserys. He bid them all a good night and hastily left the room.

The King's departure seemed to signify an end to dinner for the rest of them, as everyone slowly got up to follow him. Elia began to usher the reluctant children to bed with promises of bed time stories and future treats for good behavior.  
The children graced him with enthusiastic hugs and he was grateful for the easy way they had warmed to him. Even Elia followed suit by placing a warm hand on his shoulder and leaning in to kiss his cheek. Jon felt a warmth at this display of motherly affection that he had never known. Viserys true to his nature strode out without a word, giving off the impression that he was forced to be there. Daenerys last to leave shot him an apologetic smile and wished him a good night as she descended into a graceful curtsy. He watched her tantalizing form retreat from the room a beat too long before he realized he was left all alone. 

The hall was entirely deserted when he entered. The squire who lead him here was no where to be seen. He was too nervous on the way to dinner to pay attention to the route they took and now he stood dumb with no idea of where to go. He glanced left, right, and forward in hopes of remembering his way. He spotted a tapestry hanging on a stone wall down a darkened hall he thought looked vaguely familiar and he convinced himself he must have glimpsed it on the way. He headed down that way. 

He wondered how in a keep so full of people he could wander for a quarter of an hour and not meet a single soul. He had begun to accept that he was utterly lost and he was doomed to haunt these ghostly halls forever as Gendel and his people in the caverns underneath the Wall. His frustration mounted as he stopped upon a gallery overlooking a small court yard he was sure he hadn't seen before. Whilst looking back and forth, deliberating whether to keep marching forward or retrace his steps a movement caught his eye. His heart beat faster as he recognized the waves of silver hair belonging to the princess in the yard below. He was about to call out for her aid when a voice stopped him.

"I've missed looking upon your face. You are indeed the fairest maid of all the seven kingdoms as well as Essos," said the stranger with a heavy eastern accent. Daenerys was joined by a tall handsome man dressed in the most colorful outlandish clothes Jon had ever seen. 

"I have no doubt you see very many pretty maids, and break very many hearts on your travels Daario Naharis"  
Her tone was light and teasing. Daenerys faced the foreigner as he strode towards her. He looked like a peacock but he moved like a panther, confident and lethal. 

"You are a cruel woman to treat me so. You know very well I have only eyes for you".   
To Jon's dismay he closed the distance between them and reached his hand up to cup her pale cheek. Jon watched dejectedly as the man leaned forward and placed a kiss on Daenerys's plush and perfect lips. His loathsome hands slid along her curves with practiced ease. 

"Come Princess, I have something I wish to show you," he said in a suggestive tone. Daenerys arched her eyebrow but followed without protest. Jon felt a sudden urgent need to go after them but stayed his feet. Daenerys was a woman grown and her business was her own.

 

***

 

A tapping on the door woke Jon up from a dreamless sleep. 

“Your Grace. The King wishes to break fast with you this morning. Your Grace? Are you awake?” The now familiar tone of the servant boy faintly carried through the heavy oak doors.

Jon groaned and rubbed sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed. 

“I’ll be right out,” he called back. He surveyed the room in search of the singular trunk carrying all his belongings that he arrived with from Winterfell. Unable to find it, he cursed and donned the same apparel he wore last night. He’d have to send the boy in search of it.

This time around Jon paid particular attention to all the turns and twists they took to reach their destination. Up two flights of stairs, and down one, passing a courtyard and a private garden, they reached the King’s own private solar.

Rhaegar stood waiting in front of a table laden with fruits and delicacies. He smiled softly, his eyes warm and delighted as he scanned Jon from head to toe once more. His gaze lingered on Jon’s eyes, and for a moment his expression fell, his mind lost in memories. Jon was familiar with this reaction. His uncle would too often succumb to the sweet pull of reminiscence Jon’s dark grey eyes seemed to inspire. Both men still deeply mourning the loss of a wild grey eyed lass taken before her time. 

His father recollected himself in time and stepped towards him to observe him closer. “You’ve grown so much. I wish I was there to see it,” he said regrettably as he placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder and guided him to his seat.

“I hope you know it was never my wish to be parted from you,” Rhaegar continued cautiously but earnestly. He motioned for Jon to begin to break his fast as he reached for a roll. 

“I know,” Jon replied. “It was my mother’s wish I grew up North.” He paused for a bit and added hastily, “And I have no regrets. I loved it there.” True to his word he had no cause to be unhappy. His time at Winterfell filled him with the sweetest memories of home, of family, and a childhood unblemished. 

Rhaegar chuckled. “I had no doubt that you would. You are your mother’s son. A northerner at heart. I trusted Lord Eddard to take good care of you. And it was likely for the best. You had a real childhood playing with your cousins away from the toxic atmosphere the court might bring. That is why Viserys and Daenerys stayed on Dragonstone so long. I intend to send Rhaenys and Aegon to Dorne for a time. They would love the water gardens there, but Elia does not wish to travel just yet.”

His father paused for a time perhaps awaiting a reaction, but Jon’s mouth was full of sweet cake and he was unable to reply. Rhaegar graced him with a lingering indulgent look full of amusement as he nudged another plate of sweet cakes towards his son. His expression grew more somber however before he began to speak again.

“As much as I detest it, you can not be carefree forever. You are the Crown Prince, Jon… My heir.” Rhaegar sighed, ran a finger across his mouth and fixed Jon with a serious look before continuing. “I do not wish for the weight of the seven kingdoms to be thrust onto your shoulders upon my death without prior knowledge or experience of how to handle that kind of responsibility.” 

Sweet cakes forgotten Jon sat at attention. Though there was no reprimand in his father’s tone he suddenly felt humbled. A little hungry flame came alight in his chest, a desire to prove himself beginning to consume him. 

“Starting today, you shall attend all small council meetings. Though I don’t doubt Lord Eddard did not neglect your basic education I have arranged for you to have extra lessons with a maestar of my choosing. His name is Bernard and he is particularly versed in the study of politics, economics, and military strategy having written a few well received books on those subjects himself. I requested him specifically from the Citadel. You will also spend time with each member of the small council, shadowing them, learning their area of expertise. While it is good to heed the council of your advisors you ought to be familiar enough with each subject matter yourself to make your own decisions. I want you to pay careful attention to what they teach you and the way they go about it. You will soon learn that not all are to be trusted, even among your closest advisers. Some may try to influence you and sway you one way or another. You need to start differentiating between honest guidance and consultation made with ill intentions,” Rhaegar finished gravely, worry lining the crinkles of his eyes. 

Jon held his gaze and nodded solemnly. He wished to impress on his father that he understood the seriousness of the task. He was no green boy. He would not disappoint. 

“Don’t despair yet.” Jon’s sire smiled. “It won’t all be boring meetings and tedious book learning. Lord Stark during the course of our correspondence, made me well aware of how much you enjoyed sword play and let me know that you showed a lot of promise in that area.”

Jon preened with pride at such praise coming from his formidable uncle and reaching the ears of his father, who was a renowned Dragon Knight in his own right.

“Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy have kindly agreed to help you polish off your skills.”

Jon sat there stunned, excitement coursing through his veins. The privilege of having the most legendary knights in all the lands giving him private sword fighting lessons was not a perk he had considered when he resigned himself to his current role.

Rhaegar sat quietly pleased at having arranged something he knew would bring his son much joy. He then sighed as if fearing his next announcement would not be so well received. The King scanned his surroundings, his gaze shifted for a bit before settling on the table. Eyes cast down, he went on in a tone that made it clear it was difficult for him to get this off his chest. “I knew your mother barely a fortnight before we were betrothed. And while she may have caught my immediate attention with her beauty and her wild antics, it wasn’t until well into the first year of our marriage that I had come to realize how much I truly cared for her…. Infatuation and love, real love that comes from a deep understanding of the person you are with and the time spend sharing your life with them are two different things. I loved Lyanna more than I could truly express. The gods stole her from me and she took a part of me with her. Though another part lives on in you.”

Heat rose to Jon’s cheeks and his eyes began to water at his father’s admission. He blinked to will the tears away and stared mutely at his boots, picturing the statue in the crypts in memory of the woman he desperately wished he could have known.

“I haven’t yet met Elia when her ship arrived from Dorne a week prior to our wedding. My advisors sang her praises but they were more interested in the political merits of this union rather than my marital bliss. Luckily for me Elia turned out to be everything they promised me and more. She is beautiful, noble and intelligent, but she is also very kind. I could not have asked for a gentler soul to be a mother to my children. Tell me Jon, how do Lord and Lady Stark fare? How has the Lady of Winterfell treated you? Have they a happy union?”

Jon was perplexed at this line of questioning and took a minute to gather his thoughts. Lady Catelyn was always kind and respectful albeit a bit formal in his presence. She showed him neither the affection nor the enforced discipline she would impose upon her children. Sometimes he yearned for her to act more like a mother to him but no matter what he did, she would neither embrace him in happiness nor scold him in censure as she did her own offspring. He supposed his higher station irked her. Being a lady of the south she could not so easily do away with the formalities as her northern countrymen. Caught between the opposing obligations of being his guardian and one of his subjects, she deferred all responsibilities of his care to her Lord Husband. Ned Stark had no such qualms regarding Jon. To the Warden of the North Jon was his beloved sister’s son and of his own blood first and foremost. Secondly, he was a young boy left in his charge in need of care, and instruction, and occasional discipline. The title of Crown Prince came a distant third. 

“Lady Stark is a most honorable and noble lady. She was a very gracious hostess during the entirety of my stay,” Jon flinched as he finished his reply realizing how weirdly formal his words must sound about a woman under whose roof he resided for over a decade. 

Rhaegar frowned at his choice words but made no comment and waited for his offspring to continue.

Wishing to remedy the odd impression his awkward statement might have made, Jon went on with more confidence and warmth about a subject he was more sure of, “There is no question of their devotion to each other. Lord and Lady Stark are an example of conjugal felicity.” 

Rhaegar smiled to himself. “That’s good to hear. Lady Catelyn was set to marry Brandon Stark, you know. Before he fell during the Battle of the Trident. Lord Hoster Tully having been promised the heir to Winterfell for a goodson, turned to the young Lord Eddard in his place. They did not lay eyes upon each other until the day that they were wed. Ned did his duty as did she. In my experience arranged marriages have as much chance of bringing joy to their participants as do any other. I hope yours does too.”

Jon blinked and stared. His palms began to feel all clammy as he finally realized where this discussion was leading. Though he always assumed he would have very little say in the choice of his future Queen, it being a concern to all the realm, he did not expect the moment of discovery to come upon him so soon. 

His sire fixed him with a pointed look. “You are my trueborn son and lawful heir, Jon. By all the laws of Westeros that is what you are. Not everyone wishes to follow the laws of Westeros and when they do they do so grudgingly. Men and women striving to seize power through any treachery and deception they deem possible. You’ll be the first Targaryan king who looks nothing like us.”

Jon shifted in his seat, suddenly self conscious of his appearance. Rhaegar rubbed his temples as if warding off an oncoming headache as he continued.

“The Spider tells me there has already been grumblings. Filthy rumors. Some say you are not mine child, which is absurd! Others whinge that you’ve spend too much time up North. That the Starks have undue influence over you and will use it to their advantage.”

Jon opened his mouth to defend his kin but Rhaegar stopped him with a hand.

“I know there is no basis for it.” The king resumed. “Ned Stark is an honorable man and has as much desire to involve himself in southern politics as a pig does to go to slaughter. Between the vicious civil wars and perpetual rebellions, the realm has bled enough. I pray to all the seven gods and northern tree gods your ascension to the throne will be as uneventful as possible. Thus, I have decided. You are of an age. It is high time you took a wife and produced heirs to secure our rule. I wish to tie you to the Royal Line as much as possible so there are no more complaints you are more wolf than dragon. You will wed your aunt Daenerys.” 

Jon’s eyes widened and his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He wished his sire would repeat the name so he could know he had not misheard. He tried to swallow and collect his thoughts but found his throat free of all moisture and his mind blank but for the image of bright lilac eyes. 

“Has she consented?” he managed to croak out.

Rhaegar observed his reactions with keen interest and a sympathetic look. “Fear not my son. Daenerys is beautiful and you’ll soon discover she’s got a gentle heart. I shall speak with her today but I see no reason why she would object.”

Jon wasn’t so certain. His heart plummeted as the sight he’s been suppressing since last night rushed to the forefront of his mind. Daenerys at a late-night lover’s tryst. Her skin caressed and her lips kissed, and not by him. But it was not his secret to reveal. If Daenerys wanted to decline, citing her heart belonging to another as an excuse, or listing innumerable objections she might already have to Jon’s own person, it was up to her to voice them. Jon nodded his head in acceptance to his father. He would do his duty just as his sire bid.


	2. Rob I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as the tags imply Robb/Margaery will be a big feature in this fic so to all the Jonerys fans I hope you enjoy this just as much.

He sat with his legs splayed out in front of him, his torso leaning back and resting on his forearms. He closed his eyes enjoying the feel of the sea breeze underneath the shade of an immense oak tree. This might have been the first time he has felt cool since they made it south of the Neck. The cries of sea gulls and a low growling of a wolf were the only sounds to disturb this peaceful tranquility. He cracked a lid open to watch Arya struggle to hold onto an end of a massive stick as her pup Nymeria shook her head and twisted her body, fangs sinking deeper into the bark and pushing back to become its sole proprietor. To the other side of him sat Sansa, humming quietly to herself as she ran a brush through the pristine fur of the ever so patient Lady. He twisted his head around to locate the other two quick moving fur balls playing in the back. Grey Wind so fast and massive it was impossible to catch him once he hit his stride. But Ghost as eerily quiet as his namesake could manage to sneak up in plain day light on even the most vigilant of his brothers and sisters. 

“Look!” said Arya. “Whose house does that belong to?” 

They watched her point to a waving flag depicting a red figure on a green background. 

“It’s House Tarly of Horn Hill, from the Reach.” Sansa answered.

“Oh,” Arya replied in disappointment, “why is it everyone that comes is from the Reach? I was hoping to see more Dornishmen. I heard the Red Viper pretended to be a slave and fought in the fighting pits of Mereen one time. He slayed six men in under thirty seconds.” She grinned recounting the bloody tale. “I hope to meet him.” She finished wistfully. 

“I pray once you do you address him as Prince Oberyn and not Red Viper.” Robb smiled fondly at his little sister as he spoke. “I am sure the Dornish will be well represented. They are the Queen’s kin after all.”

They all turned back to contemplate the slow procession making it down the dusty road into the red gates of the city. Their spot on top of a hill provided the perfect vantage point to observe the multitude of carriages and caravans transporting both high and low borns in the wake of the upcoming festivities. Robb looked as wagon after wagon with no end in sight accompanied by guards bearing the sigil of the golden rose on a field of green rolled their way into the capital. 

Sansa sighed in a dreamy manner, “Jon must feel so lucky. A feast and a tourney in his honor.”

“I doubt it,” Arya interrupted, “Jon hates attention.”

Sansa shot her a look that spoke quite clearly what she thought of her sister’s opinion.

Before they could erupt into another round of bickering Robb intervened. “Whether he likes it or no, makes no matter. He’d have to get used to attention since he is to be King.”

“Why isn’t he here though?” whined Arya. “Ghost misses him. He shouldn’t neglect him.” She huffed out her displeasure at her beloved cousin’s absence. 

“Jon is Crown Prince and he’s got many obligations. Ghost spend two nights in the spacious royal kennels gorging himself on steak. If he has any complaints, he is a spoiled wolf indeed.” Robb answered as he pushed himself off the dewy grass. “Now come on, the feast will begin in a few hours time and I am sure Sansa will need every minute of it to do her hair.”

He smiled teasingly at the red head, who shot him a scathing look. 

***

Rows upon rows of tables covered in luxurious linen were carefully arranged in the lush green gardens of the Red Keep. Braziers, innumerable candles, and lanterns provided so much light it was as bright as daylight though the sun has long since set. It was quite the spectacle Robb thought as he glanced at all the bards, acrobats, fire dancers, mummers, and fools entertaining the nobility at every corner with their craft. The guests were no less noteworthy, dressed in their finest threads, adorned with the most ostentatious jewels and precious metals to display to everyone the wealth and power of their houses. 

Glancing at the high table Robb observed the royal family. King Rhaegar still exceptionally handsome despite the fine lines beginning to frame his eyes, and the few wisps of hair a duller grey than the bright silver of Old Valyria peppering his mane. He wore a simple crown of gold encrusted with some rubies, the red of which matched the thread of the three-headed dragon stitched into his doublet. On his left sat the Queen, looking resplendid in a gown of bright yellow silks. She smiled kindly at all those who approached but her main attention was taken up by her two small offspring. She was gently ensuring they didn’t make a spectacle of themselves while all eyes were on them. At their end sat their uncle. His expressions flitted so fast between deep disgust and shallow amusement it was hard to catch what could be the cause for either emotion. One thing was certain, he was not the least bit pleased with his oldest nephew. Anytime his gaze drifted to the Crown Prince, his face took on a look of such loathing and resentment it was bordering on wild rage. Robb wondered what in Jon could possibly offend him so. 

His cousin sat in a place of honor on his father’s left. Right next to him resided his new betrothed. Princess Daenerys looked as magnificent as it was always rumoured. Dressed in a gown of rich blue her easy smile and clear countenance a perfect contrast to Jon’s dark brooding looks, red flush, and pouting lips. There was a procession of nobles making their way over to the King to pay their respects and make their introductions with the freshly arrived Prince. Robb knew that making small talk was not Jon’s strong suit and shot him a sympathetic look as the boy tried his damnest to smile, speak, and appear gracious to a fat lord in a purple tunic who was sputtering something to the Royal couple with such enthusiasm his spittle must have landed in their food. Luckily for Jon, his future bride was able to come through whenever his wits failed him. She’d put on the charm and laugh and smile and send them on their way. 

Having already been formally introduced at the start of the evening, the Starks sat in their place of prominence quite close to the royals. The tables were laden with food and wine and Robb kept an eye on the goblets to keep his younger sisters from sneakily partaking in too much spirits. Across from them, closest to the Queen, settled the Martells. Arya nearly shook with excitement as she eyed the Prince of Dorne. Robb had to admit he looked as formidable and lethal as his reputation suggested. He lounged low in his chair whispering something amusing into the ear of a dark beauty, who was said to be his paramour. On his other side sat his niece and nephew, Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn. The latter a sullen serious youth with a strong and square but homely face, while the former was a buxom vixen with a wide sensual mouth and playful gaze. Robb knew the fashions of the South differed much from those of the North thanks to Sansa’s unheeded lecture on the subject during their journey but he was not expecting half the ladies they encountered to be attired in the transparent scraps of silks they passed off as dresses. He blushed a crimson red and willed his eyes away from Princess Arianne’s dark nipple clearly visible through the light fabric. The other was covered by a cascade of ringlets and braids of her black hair thrown over the one shoulder. She must have noticed his ogling for the next time he looked up she looked straight at him and her lips curved up into a sinful smile as she send him a suggestive wink. Completely flummoxed by such a forward act from a high-born lady and more than a little intimidated by the close proximity of her notorious uncle he was saved from formulating a response by the sudden blockage of his view by the wide expanse of a short but hefty balding man. 

The man made a beeline for the Starks after paying his respects at the royal table and Robb studied his face to see if he should recognize him. Nothing in his features seemed familiar but the tree and raven stitched onto his doublet suggested he represented House Blackwood of the Riverlands.

Robb and his sisters all stood to greet the stranger who bowed deeply when he approached. Robb tilted his head respectfully while his sisters did a curtsey in return. 

“Good Evening My Lord. I am honored to make your acquaintance and that of your sisters. I am Lord Blackwood of Raventree Hall. Your mother’s father’s bannerman. How fares your Lady Mother, pray tell?” the Lord inquired humbly. 

“She is very well. She will be glad to know we met more of her countrymen. We hastened on our way to Kingslanding and didn’t get to spend much time in my Mother’s native lands.” Robb answered thinking of Lady Stark. 

“I am afraid it is not a good time for a visit. Pray to the Seven for some rain.” Lord Blackwood shook his head dejectedly as he answered. 

Robb frowned at this statement. The Riverlands have been devastated by an unrelenting and unseasonable drought for nigh close to a year. When they passed through, the lush and fertile lands they expected to see had been replaced by ground that was parched and dusty. All three great Forks, once wide and treacherous were now mere lazy streams. The rapidly depleting food supply left the common people starving and destitute. Rumours that bands of outlaws were preying on folks with stores of grain were running rampant and spreading fear among those without protection. 

“We shall pray to the Old Gods and the New that they take pity on your land and the Riverlands bear fruit again. Please let us know if there is any way that we can aid you and your people.” Robb stated sympathetically. 

Lord Blackwood thanked them profusely for their civilities, bowed low in farewell and scampered off to find his seat.

Robb chanced another glance at the Dornish table but Princess Arianne was no where to be seen. 

Sansa gasped beside him. “He is so handsome!” she exclaimed admiring a young lord currently presenting his grandmother to the King.

“That’s Loras Tyrell. He is called the Knight of Flowers. He is said to be pretty good, thought he doesn’t look much like a knight if you ask me.” Arya chimed in, once again demonstrating her knowledge of all the worthy fighters in the seven kingdoms.

“Well no one asked you,” Sansa seethed in Loras’s defence. “And you are being stupid. He looks exactly like a knight should. Handsome and dreamy.”

Robb could almost hear Arya’s eye roll. He studied the Tyrell party closely. The young Lord was comely indeed though a touch too refined, his Grandmother beside him held a look that was both serious and amused in equal measure and they obscured the view of what appeared to be a young lady at their side. 

*

The feast dragged on. With Arya yawning and fidgeting on his left, and Sansa pouting because not one eligible bachelor has asked her to dance on his right, and no Dornish Princess to ogle in front, Robb wondered if it would not be rude to retire just yet.

“They are coming over here!” Sansa burst out. Excited and smiling once again, she was the first to rise to welcome their visitors.

The Knight of Flowers was approaching and on his arm was the lady Robb didn’t get a change to see. His eyes widened at the sight of her. She was exceptionally beautiful with a supple figure and heavy light-brown locks of hair, but what held his interest was the cat like bright green eyes alight with a sly intellect. Her turquoise gown was more structured than the silks the Dornish wore but with it’s thin straps and many cutouts it showed almost as much skin. 

“Lord Stark. I am Ser Loras Tyrell. Me and my sister Lady Margaery wish to make your acquaintance.” The knight spoke while gesturing to the girl.

Lady Margaery dipped into a low curtsey so fluid and graceful it made Sansa’s practiced manners seem Wildling like in comparison. She stayed stooped low a bit longer than necessary, the already plunging neck line of her dress revealing a view almost to her navel. Robb stared and when she rose back up the look in her eyes revealed she knew he had. 

Discomfited and blushing Robb struggled to reply. “Er…We are pleased to make your acquaintance. These are my sisters. Lady Sansa and Lady Arya.” Both girls curtsied, though Arya did so with reluctance frowning at her title. 

The Tyrell siblings eyed Robb appreciatively with similar eyes and similar expressions that made him uncomfortable, before Loras turned his gaze to his older sister. “With your brother’s permission Lady Sansa. I would like to request the honor of the next dance.”

Her chair nearly toppled behind her as Sansa eagerly sprinted around the table to grasp the hand of her awaiting partner. Left alone to entertain the Lady, Robb tried to gather his wits about him to have something to say.

“Sansa will remember this night for many moons to come. Please thank your brother for me.” He commented. 

“A great beauty such as her will begin to acquire many dance partners and many suiters very soon. You shall have to keep your sword sharp and your eyes open to scare them all away.” Margaery replied with a smirk. 

“It’s a wonder then your own brother lets you out of his sight.” He returned apprehensive that his flirting was a tad too forward. But Margaery’s eyes crinkled and her smile widened letting him know he did not offend. 

“Do you like to dance………….Lady Arya?” asked Margaery politely of the ignored sibling. Robb’s spirits rose in excited hope when she began her inquiry but fell when her gaze switched to his little sister at the last syllable, and he knew then she was simply toying with him. 

“No. And its just Arya,” the little troublemaker blurted out. 

Robb frowned at his sister’s lack of curtesy and was about to chastise her before Margaery replied more than a little amused at the girl’s abruptness. “You look like you prefer to ride more than to dance.”

Arya scowled further believing herself to be insulted before Margery continued.

“As do I.” She said with a kind smile. “You and your…..” her keen green eyes flashed back to Robb. “Family should join me and my brother for a ride one day. I hear the King’s wood has some worthy trails.”

She curtsied low once again and bid them a good night. Robb closely followed the almost exaggerated but very appealing sway of her hips as she walked away with the confidence of one who knew she was being watched and admired.


	3. Daenerys I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for likes and comments. I did not expect this fic to get so much attention so soon. I am a bit overwhelmed. Though I am sure not everyone will enjoy it, I still welcome all your feed back and constructive criticism.  
> I was going to wait to post this chapter but since it is done I figured I might as well share it with you now. I hope it clears up any confusion some might have as to where I want to take Dany's character and her minor relationship with Daario. Though he will continue to be a plot point in this story, I hope he doesn't bother you too much.

She sat in a daze staring out into the sea, the chatter around her blending seamlessly with the sounds of the rustling leaves and incoming tide. A myriad thoughts and worries took turns floating to a crest in her mind only to dissipate without resolution to be replaced by another like the endless waves in the channel. 

“You keep brooding like that princess and we won’t be able to tell you apart from your betrothed.” teased Jeyne Westerling snapping Daenerys out of her reverie. Jeyne was one of five appointed Ladies in Waiting to the princess, who were now arranged in the garden sipping tea and awaiting the arrival of a few choice merchants. 

“As I was saying,” Cassandra brought attention back to her gossip, “I don’t know why Alayne is shocked her husband is out of sorts with her. Do you recall at the Prince’s arrival feast she danced three dances with that Tyroshi sell sword?” The Stormlands girl gave a pause and looked around meaningfully at each set of eyes before continuing. “I mean he is a handsome devil to be sure, but not the type to get involved with if you want your reputation to remain unsoiled.”

A weak mirth filled Daenerys at the mention of the rogue, a bare echo of the exuberant thrill she might have experienced mere weeks before. She wondered if he meant to make her jealous by the uncharacteristic display of his dancing prowess with the Lady from the Vale. A predictable response to the announcement of her betrothal to be sure. She wondered why she didn’t feel as he intended. Did she not care for him? The sneaking around, secret rendezvous, constant fear of getting caught had brought her such delight. _But what of his person, his presence, his conversation, his touch, his kisses? She felt nothing. Mayhaps it was all just juvenile rebellion after all._ At least she could end it safely knowing not a single soul in the keep suspected their pristine silver princess to have ever touched the likes of Daario.

“Is the prince entering the lists?” inquired Roselin Frey. The shy girl, as always uneasy with the salacious turn the conversation was about to take tried to steer the discourse to a more decent lady like direction. 

The question put her into a stupor. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything…..I don’t believe so.” Daenerys mumbled truthfully. The embarrassment of not being able to answer the simplest question about the man who was to be her lord and husband left her frustrated and annoyed. If she expected him to come courting after her brother informed her of their engagement, she was sourly disappointed. _So much for Northern coldness being naught but a myth!_ In the weeks following she’d only seen him on formal occasions and arranged family dinners. Their conversation was stiff and formal exchanging nothing but the expected polite pleasantries. She’d spy him on occasion staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, seeming as if he wished to say something but he'd turn to address the King instead. He was industrious, she’d give him that. From listening in on their discourse she gathered he was up from dawn to dusk, attending meetings and lessons, appointments and training sessions all in the service of the Realm. 

She’d never witnessed the shining pride in Rhaegar’s eyes as when he looked upon his first born son. He’d never looked like that when he tried to teach Viserys. _At least I am not made to marry him._ She thought darkly of her other brother.

“Look. They are here!” Cassandra jumped up excitedly nearly spilling her cup of tea. They watched a procession of servants carrying large heavy trunks down a path and depositing them in a little clearing a few yards away from where they were sitting. The trunks were followed by their proprietors; a fat grey haired jeweller and weapons maker from Qohor, whose lengthy coiled curls were adorned with various intricate hair clips and a lanky young merchant from Myr, who despite being the owner of the largest production of Myrish lace across the sea wore only the simplest grey linen breaches and tunics. They bowed low and began opening their trunks to display their many wares. 

The ladies ran up to eagerly to inspect the treasures they have brought. Daenerys stayed behind gradually losing all her interest in Myrish lace and Qohor jewels. An unexpected resentment began to bubble up inside her at Jon and his many lessons. His role as future King has been made much off. Did her position as Queen to-be not merit the same instruction and consideration?

Daenerys sat and mused upon the deeds and history of those that came before her. The feared warrior Queen Visenya who helped her brother forge the Iron Throne, Queen Rhaenyra who waged a bloody bitter war to assert her rule, even the good Queen Alysanne beloved by her people, to her all seemed as mythical as dragons, their legacies contained but not forgotten in dusty tomes. Queen Rhaella perished during child birth. Although all spoke highly of Danny’s mother, her reign was overshadowed by the madness of her father. Lyanna Stark, the only recent female monarch who held any promise of being a warrior queen reborn died birthing the heir a mere year after receiving her crown. The current Queen Elia was a gentle and kind woman but an indifferent monarch. Her questionable health only permitted her as much energy as was required to care for her children. The troubles of the realm she left entirely upon her husband’s shoulders. Mayhaps those were to be her only future duties; to be a brood mare for the future king, to sit and smile and look pretty at his feasts. But Daenerys knew she wanted more.

“Is something troubling you, your grace?” Daenerys was once again pulled out of her thoughts, this time by the melodic chime of Margaery Tyrell. She looked at the latest addition to her retinue. The Lady Margaery unnerved her. Since being appointed to be one of her Ladies in Waiting at the request of her brother only two weeks prior the Tyrell girl despite having spent half her waking hours in the princess’s company revealed very little of herself and her true nature. Daenerys found her very hard to read, her keen green eyes always giving away that she thought more than she spoke. It was never easy to tell whether it was for good or ill.

Not wishing to allow the cryptic girl a window to her thoughts, Daenerys simply shook her head and remarked instead, “You did not attend me yesterday Lady Margaery. Were you ill?”

“Not at all, your grace.” Margaery sat as she replied. “I was away on business for your brother.”

Whatever answer Danny was expecting it wasn’t that. “The King?!” she asked. “May I inquire what it was?”

“Of course,” the Rose of Highgarden began neutrally. “As you may know, there’s been a drought in the Riverlands. The food supply has been running low and the Reach has been asked to increase its share to feed the kingdoms. Whenever a calamity like that strikes I find that the poorest among us are the first and most affected.”

Daenerys sat enraptured at her words, surprised to see the cool mask of indifference normally present on the Tyrell girl’s face slip to reveal a rare, genuine and humble expression underneath. While she’s heard of this disaster, she found the variety and quantity of nourishment provided at the keep not to have suffered from any scarcity, so she had put it out of her mind. An acute sense of guilt dropped in the pit of her stomach at her negligence. 

“King Rhaegar has tasked me with distributing the rations among the poor in Flea Bottom. I have experience in such matters from the Reach. I beg your pardon to be absent again on the morrow. There is more to be done.” The lady thus explained.

“Please take me with you,” Daenerys blurted out surprising even herself.

“Of course.” Margaery accepted with a pleased expression. 

***

The ornate doors and silky curtains of the litter partially obscured her view as she tried to peer out upon the unfamiliar passages of the city. She rarely left the Keep and that was usually to attend a service at the Sept of Baelor or leave the capital to exercise her mare in the King’s Wood. This area of the city was as foreign to her as the canals of Braavos. 

The garland of dried flowers that hung inside their litter did nothing to obscure the stench that permeated within and Daenerys scrunched up her nose at the assault. Her eyes widened at the sight that opened up before her as they turned a corner. Cramped buildings with large windows contained half naked women on display. The smell of ale and incense so strong it almost masked the stink of stale piss. Inebriated men from high to low born staggered from one establishment to another barely held up by their wobbling legs. 

“The Street of Silk.” Margaery commented unperturbed. 

Daenerys watched three figures stumble out of the dark depths of the nearest alleyway. She gasped in surprise as recognition hit her. Ser William and Lord Bracken, both blushed and stammered when they held her hand and made their introductions not a fortnight ago. Their shyness now forgotten, they stood oozing with drink induced bravado. Ser William pawed at the exposed teats of a dishevelled but heavily painted woman, while Lord Bracken tugged at the laces of his breeches and hummed a barely recognizable rendition of the “Bear and the Maiden Fair”. 

Daenerys smirked in amusement at the discovery of the two vastly different portraits the noble men presented. An uneasy thought flashed across her mind. Was her intended also much different than what he had appeared? For all the mystery Jon was to her, he might be drunk beneath a silken sheet, hiding between a woman’s thighs this very moment. She tried to shake off the surprisingly alarming feeling that thought produced. 

She glanced around once more and her eyes caught hollow pools of brown peering straight at her from the top floor of a brothel. There stood a girl with cropped mousy black hair clad in a thread bare shift. A girl not even on the cusp of woman hood, younger than Daenerys. _Much younger._ The expression upon that child’s face was so dead and blank Daenerys wondered if she were not a ghost. Her stomach churned as a wide hairy overhanging male belly appeared behind the girl. He placed his meaty hand upon the bony shoulder and yanked her back closing the curtains. Daenerys concentrated on her hands for the remainder of the journey. She did not wish to witness anymore. 

*

The litter stopped and they were lowered. The door held open by a Tyrell guard, Margaery was the first to step out. Daenerys watched the lady’s silk embroidered slippers sink into fowl smelling brown sludge. Not wishing to betray how much the sight disgusted her, Daenerys followed without pause. 

They walked down a narrow alley flanked by half a dozen Tyrell guards and Ser Jaime Lannister. They reached a crumbling building with a rickety wooden door and Margaery pushed in. Inside was utter happy chaos. At least four dozen bouncing children of various ages played happily and loudly, running, skipping, and prancing about under the watchful gaze of two haggard looking women. The sight of Margaery only increased their excitement and several children bounded over smiling brightly and tugging at her skirts. The merriment seemed contagious and Daenerys grinned as she leaned over to introduce herself to the closest ones. They stared at her in wonder. A few of the bolder ones ask to touch her silver hair and she cheerfully obliged. 

Behind them servants went in and out dropping off food baskets from the cart that followed them. Margaery pulled out a parchment from her sleeve and counted the number of baskets to compare to the figures written on her sheet. She then waved over one of the supervising women, who approached hesitantly.

“Milady,” the maiden bowed to Lady Margaery while stealing cautious glances at Daenerys.

Margaery acknowledged her with a nod, then addressed Daenerys, “Your Grace, this is Maria. She kindly oversees this orphanage.”

The woman, having her suspicions confirmed at the use of her title nearly dropped to her knees before Daenerys stopped her with a hand.

“There is no need to kneel,” she said kindly. “I am here to help. You may address me as Milady as you do Lady Margaery.” 

Maria nodded nervously, head bowed, avoiding eye contact. 

Drawing Maria’s attention away from the intimidating presence of royalty, Margaery began to recount all that they have brought. “There are eight baskets of assorted fruits and vegetables, three crates of potatoes, forty pounds of salted beef and fish, five baskets of bread…I am afraid its getting a little stale and should be consumed soon. We will bring more later in the week.”

“Thank you! Thank you! The Seven bless your soul Milady. This is more than we had prayed for.” Maria gushed tears glistening in her eyes.

“House Tyrell is happy to help. There is no need to thank me.” Margaery answered diplomatically. She linked her arm with that of Danny and drew her close. “Why don’t we give the princess a tour and you can tell us what you do here.”

It took some minutes but Maria became more comfortable with her royal guest. Once she felt at ease she chatted candidly about the children and where they came from. She showed them their sleeping quarters and stacks of patched up rags that passed as bedding and children’s clothes. She revealed their meagre food and medicine supplies. She spoke of their battles with lice and vermin and the disease they spread. 

“How many children do you have here?” Daenerys ventured.

“Fifty seven, counted last week.” Maria answered. “Many come and go. As much as we try we can’t help them all so we don’t allow them to stay past the age of nine, Milady. We’ve not the room nor food for so many.” She finished with a grimace, guilt evident in her eyes. 

“What happens to them once they turn nine?” Danny asked, already apprehensive to hear the answer. 

“The lasses, ‘specially the comely ones will get snatched up into the whore houses soon enough. The fair looking lads as well.” Maria said. She tried to keep her tone even and detached but it shook despite her efforts. 

Big brown hollow eyes flashed in Dany’s mind and bile rose to her throat once again. _Much too young._

“The rest will turn to thievery or darker deeds or begging to survive. Most will end up on the gallows. But they are not all bad my princess. You mustn’t think that!” Maria pleaded. _She didn’t._ “They’ve no other choice you see. So very few can find work. The noble ladies don’t wish to hire the likes of them not even for their washer women. They’ve no learning nor skills. The men of trade would rather pass on their knowledge to their true or even base born sons before taking on an orphan as an apprentice.” 

*

A somber mood befell the ladies as they settled back into their litter. They silently arranged their ruined skirts. The hems were covered in a brown-green sludge that was best not contemplated while the rest was dotted with small dirty hand prints. Despite her cheerful demeanor Dany could tell that Margaery was no less affected by the sights they saw. A sense of helplessness threatened to consume Daenerys. What could she do? _Sell all her jewels and give away the money? Bring all the children to the keep and demand they stay there?_ There must be some way she could help. Give them a chance so that the whorehouse or the dungeons was not the children’s only future. _They’ve no learning._

“We need to hire a maester or person of some learning and bring him to the orphanage to give lessons.” Daenerys finally proposed.

“You wish to school the Flea Bottom orphans like they were highborns?” Margaery asked incredulously. 

“I don’t plan to teach them High Valyrian. Just their basic letters and some arithmetic and then we can see if we can find them honest employment.” Dany wrung her hands as she tried to formulate a plan. _If I could just give them a chance._

“Educating the common folk. What a revolutionary idea.” Remarked Margaery. Her tone was lightly sarcastic but the intense calculating look she wore said that she was all on board. “If we are to do more for the orphans it will require some investment. Unfortunately, my disposable income is getting stretched quite thin. Would your brother and soon to be husband approve of this?”

Daenerys pondered this. Rhaegar has always had a soft spot for the low born. He even considered some of Aegon the Unlikely policies but knew he wouldn’t garner enough support of the other lords. So soon after the rebellion the new king didn’t wish to rock the boat of this fragile peace. She couldn’t tell what Jon would think. _Would her soon to be lord and master try to confine her to the Keep to raise his children and smile and nod and plan feasts and banquets? Would he object to what she was trying to achieve?_ Even if he did, she didn’t care. She’d find a way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fan fiction. I was never much of a writer but I couldn't get this story out of my head. I hope you guys like it. All comments are welcome.


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